DON QUIXOTE – THE CAPTIVE’S TALE – PART 11

(This post is a continuation of Don Quixote – The Captive’s Tale – Parts 1 through 10. If you haven’t done so already, it’s probably best to read those posts before continuing on here.)

Last week, the captive, his companions, and Zoraida put Zoraida’s father and some other Moors ashore and left them there, with her father shouting at her as they sailed way, alternately cursing his daughter and pleading for her to come back. This week, we follow their journey as they try to reach the shores of Spain.

Zoraida listened to her father’s accusations and pleadings with sorrow and tears, and all she could say in answer was, “Allah grant that Lela Marien, who has made me become a Christian, give thee comfort in thy sorrow, my father. Allah knows that I could not do otherwise than I have done, and that these Christians owe nothing to my will, for even had I wished not to accompany them, but remain at home, it would have been impossible for me, so eagerly did my soul urge me on to the accomplishment of this purpose, which I feel to be as righteous as to thee, dear father, it seems wicked.”

But neither could her father hear her, nor we see him when she said this, and so, while I consoled Zoraida, we turned our attention to our voyage.

A breeze from the right point now favored us so that we made sure of finding ourselves off the coast of Spain on the morrow by daybreak. But, as good seldom or never comes pure and unmixed, without being attended or followed by some disturbing evil that gives a shock to it, our fortune, or perhaps the curses which the Moor had hurled at his daughter (for whatever kind of father they may come from, these are always to be dreaded), brought it about that when we were now in mid-sea, and the night about three hours spent, as we were running with all sail set and oars lashed, for the favoring breeze saved us the trouble of using them, we saw by the light of the moon, which shone brilliantly, a square-rigged vessel in full sail close to us, luffing up and standing across our course, and so close that we had to strike sail to avoid running afoul of her.

They too put their helm hard up to let us pass. They came to the side of the ship to ask who we were, whither we were bound, and whence we came, but as they asked this in French, our renegade said, “Let no one answer, for no doubt these are French corsairs who plunder all comers.”

Acting on this warning no one answered a word, but after we had gone a little ahead, and the vessel was now lying to leeward, suddenly they fired two guns, and apparently both loaded with chain-shot, for with one they cut our mast in half and brought down both it and the sail into the sea, and the other, discharged at the same moment, sent a ball into our vessel amidships, staving her in completely, but without doing any further damage.

Finding ourselves sinking, we began to shout for help and call upon those in the ship to pick us up as we were beginning to fill. They then lay to, and, lowering a skiff, as many as a dozen Frenchmen, well armed with match-locks, and their matches burning, got into it and came alongside. Seeing how few we were, and that our vessel was going down, they took us in, telling us that this had come to us through our incivility in not giving them an answer.

Our renegade took the trunk containing Zoraida’s wealth and dropped it into the sea without anyone perceiving what he did. In short we went on board with the Frenchmen, who, after having ascertained all they wanted to know about us, rifled us of everything we had, as if they had been our bitterest enemies. From Zoraida they took even the anklets she wore on her feet; but the distress they caused her did not distress me so much as the fear I was in that from robbing her of her rich and precious jewels they would proceed to rob her of the most precious jewel that she valued more than all.

The desires, however, of those people do not go beyond money. Of that, however, their covetousness is insatiable, and on this occasion it was carried to such a pitch that they would have taken even the clothes we wore as captives if they had been worth anything to them. It was the advice of some of them to throw us all into the sea wrapped up in a sail, for their purpose was to trade at some of the ports of Spain, giving themselves out as Bretons, and if they brought us alive, they would be punished as soon as the robbery was discovered.

But the captain (who was the one who had plundered my beloved Zoraida) said he was satisfied with the prize he had got, and that he would not touch at any Spanish port, but pass the Straits of Gibraltar by night, or as best he could, and make for La Rochelle, from which he had sailed.

So they agreed by common consent to give us the skiff belonging to their ship and all we required for the short voyage that remained to us, and this they did the next day on coming in sight of the Spanish coast, with which, and the joy we felt, all our sufferings and miseries were as completely forgotten as if they had never been endured by us, such was the delight of recovering our lost liberty.

It may have been about mid-day when they placed us in the boat, giving us two kegs of water and some biscuit. The captain, moved by I know not what compassion, as the lovely Zoraida was about to embark, gave her some forty gold crowns, and would not permit his men to take from her those same garments which she has on now. We got into the boat, returning them thanks for their kindness to us, and showing ourselves grateful rather than indignant.

They then stood out to sea, steering for the straits.

Without looking to any compass save the land we had before us, we set ourselves to row with such energy that by sunset we were so near that we might easily, we thought, land before the night was far advanced. But as the moon did not show that night, and the sky was clouded, and as we knew not whereabouts we were, it did not seem to us a prudent thing to make for the shore, as several of us advised. They argued that we ought to run ourselves ashore even if it were on rocks and far from any habitation, for in this way we should at least be safe from the prowling vessels of the Tetouan corsairs, who leave Barbary at nightfall and are on the Spanish coast by daybreak, where they commonly take some prize and then go home to sleep in their own houses.

But of the conflicting counsels the one which was adopted was that we should approach gradually and land where we could if the sea were calm enough to permit us. This was done, and a little before midnight we drew near to the foot of a huge and lofty mountain, not so close to the sea but that it left a narrow space on which to land conveniently. We ran our boat up on the sand, and all sprang out and kissed the ground, and with tears of joyful satisfaction returned thanks to God our Lord for all his incomparable goodness to us on our voyage.

We took out of the boat the provisions it contained, and drew it up on the shore, and then climbed a long way up the mountain, for even there we could not feel easy in our hearts, or persuade ourselves that it was Christian soil that was now under our feet.

For a further installment of The Captive’s Tale, see the next post in this blog.